


Hurt & Comfort

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bathtubs, Beating, Blood, Comfort, Crying, Death Threats, Evil Brits, F/F, Face Punching, Flogging, Helplessness, Hurt, Hurt Rowena, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kidnapping, Other, Pain, Punching, Rowena Whump, Tears, Threats, Threats of Violence, Torture, Violence, Whipping, Whump, Wounds, kicking, sam and dean to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-19 12:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Three British Men of Letters jump reader and Rowena and take them hostage. As punishment for reader killing one of their own in self-defense, the Brits force her to watch them torture Rowena.





	1. Hurt

When three British Men of Letters jumped you and Rowena while you were out in the forest collecting herbs for a potion the Winchesters had asked you to make, you decided you wouldn’t go out without a fight. And while the magic-binding cuff adorned Rowena’s wrist in an instant, you had a quick moment to throw a hex bag before they slapped one onto yours.

That turned out to be a mistake.

The man who had caught the bag and melted, quite literally, under its influence happened to be the brother of one of the remaining two ones, and you were quick to learn that the Brits could be quite mean when one of their own got hurt – especially if one of their own happened to be a family member.

“You’re going to pay for that,” the brother, whom you’d nicknamed Blondie, told you in his thick English accent. There were no tears in his eyes, no signs of grief or sadness on his face – just tranquil fury, a promise of hell you never once doubted he’d deliver.

He and the other one – Scruffy, as you called him – shoved you and Rowena into their van and sped off to some deserted warehouse in the middle of nowhere. While Scruffy led you inside, kicking and screaming (you weren’t going to make it easy for either of them. If they wanted to kill you, they were going to have to earn it), you noticed Blondie fetching a briefcase from the trunk before grabbing Rowena and following after you.

While not struggling, she made sure to call him every name in the book, existing and made up, and spit every threat she could think of. The point was clear – if they dared harm you, she was going to do everything in her power to make sure they paid for it.

You beamed with pride, grateful to have found yourself a girl who, despite her outward coldness, loved you more than anything.

Your pride dissipated when Blondie told her in a cold, calculating voice that promised hell: “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t touch a hair on _her_ head.”

You found out what he meant when the door was slammed shut and Scruffy grabbed you from behind in a sort of bear hug, holding you in place so you couldn’t further struggle. You tried to free your arms, but the guy was massive, about two meters in height, and as muscular as a wrestler. His grip on you was iron and if he were to tighten it, he could easily squash you like a pancake.

“Let go of me!” you screamed. Just because you were restrained physically didn’t mean you couldn’t voice your displeasure. “What are you doing? Let go! Let go, you motherfucker!”

“No can do, sweetheart,” Scruffy said in his Irish accent, exchanging a glance with Blondie, who looked more amused than he should have.

“We’re going to play a little game,” he told you, dragging Rowena by the arm to the center of the room.

“Let me go, ye Neanderthal!” she protested, every word laced with venom.

He ignored her, directing his growing smile to you. “It’s called: ‘you hurt me, and I hurt you’.” He released Rowena so he could walk over to you and get in your face. “I loved my brother.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” you spat. You knew it was a bad idea to antagonize your captors, especially ones as vicious as the British Men of Letters, but you were going to die either way. The least you could do was go out with dignity. You owed yourself, and Rowena, that much.

“I’m going to make you suffer,” Blondie told you, ignoring your remark. “You’re going to regret ever throwing that hex bag.”

“You’re gonna torture me?” You scoffed, unable to hold back a chuckle. Seriously? This torture thing was so American. You expected more from these fancy Brits. “How original.”

What he said next made chills of dread creep down your spine.

“Who said anything about torturing _you?”_

Taken aback, the only thing you could mutter was: “W-what?”

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. They were devoid of all emotion, rid of anything remotely human. This man, you realized, what a killing machine and your murder of his brother had pulled a dangerous trigger.

“You’re going to feel what I feel.”

Without giving you time to process what he just said, he backed away and turned to Rowena, punching her in the face with all the strength he could muster.

She fell to the floor with a thud, letting out a pained moan. You called her name, trying to once again free yourself from Scruffy’s grip, but all your attempts were futile – the man’s strength greatly surpassed your own.

“Don’t touch her!“ you screamed, following it up with a barrage of profanities not even a sailor would dare utter.

Rowena cradled her bloodied cheek, panting heavily; just as she was about to push herself up on her elbows, Blondie’s booted foot connected with her ribs, sending her flying onto her side. She grunted, trying her hardest to hold back the screams that threatened to tear from her throat.

Letting out a maniacal laugh, Blondie sent another kick her way, this one to her stomach; it was followed by another, and another, until she curled up into a fetal position, arms protectively placed over her wounded abdomen.

“No!” you shrieked, falling tears staining your vision. “Stop it! Don’t hurt her!”

“It’s too late for that,” he chuckled, giving her one last kick before walking over to the briefcase he’d placed atop an old table and opening it up to examine the contents. After a long moment of contemplating, he took out long, thin leather object and held it up proudly, smiling at the expression of pure dread that spread across your face.

It was never a good thing when a sadist had a whip in his possession.

“No!” you repeated, voice trembling with fear. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but I do,” he told you, letting his lips form a charming smile. “You killed my brother. I’m going to torture your lover. It’s only fair.”

What the hell kind of logic was that?

“Please, don’t.” If you weren’t restrained, you would have fallen to your knees. Hell, you would have kissed his feet if he required it – anything so he wouldn’t hurt Rowena anymore. “She didn’t do anything. You want to hurt someone? Hurt me! I’m the one that killed your brother!”

“That’s not how it works, but points for effort.”

He took slow steps toward Rowena, his amusement growing as he observed her writhing form. Curled up like that, she resembled a kitten; a wounded kitten in unimaginable pain.

More tears spilled down your face at the sight of her. She was so vulnerable, so fragile, and every instinct in your body screamed at you to protect her, but the only thing you could do was helplessly watch as the monster circled her like the predator he was.

The first lash across her back elicited a startled gasp from her. She widened her eyes in shock, swallowing the thick lump in her throat.

Blondie chuckled, narrowing his eyes before pressing his foot to her back to push her onto her stomach. He struck her again, this time with more force. The lash tore a piece of her dress, revealing bruised, reddened skin underneath.

Rowena let out a hiss, swallowing back the pain that spread through her body like deadly poison in her veins. Your heart exploded with sympathy for your girl and you screamed at the tops of your lungs, begging him to stop, but it seemed the more you begged, the harder he hit.

Rowena’s own scream echoed throughout the warehouse after the tenth lash. She no longer had it in her to hold it in; the only thing she could do was cry out at the top of her lungs as Blondie viciously whipped her.

You’d lost count, but it was around the thirtieth lash that he finally decided to stop. He threw the bloody whip to the side, smiling brightly as he admired his work. Rowena’s back and shoulders were in tatters; skin was ripped to pieces, and blood, still pouring out the fresh wounds, pooled around her shaking body.

“So beautiful,” he commented, contently observing her injuries as if they were a work of art. Which to him they probably were.

“You crazy son of a bitch!” you shrieked as Scruffy held onto you, his laughter echoing in your ear.

How could they do that to someone who’d done nothing to them? How could they torture a defenseless person and act as if all of it were a comedy? How could they hurt _her,_ of all people?

“Rowena?” you called, hearing her soft moans.

“Y/N?” Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper. Your heart broke at the fragility of her form. Other than involuntary shaking, she didn’t dare move for even the slightest movement deepened the pain. Tears fell from her eyes, mixing with the blood on the floor.

You could tell the only thing she wanted was you to hold her hand, to tell her everything was going to be alright like you always did when she was in pain. She would never say it out loud, but you knew she needed you just like you needed her.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” you said. You may not have been able to hold her, but you sure as hell could let her hear you, in hopes that the sound of your voice would calm her down. “I’m right here. It’s going to be okay.”

The shakiness in your voice exposed the obvious lie.

If she weren’t in pain, Rowena would have chuckled, but the only thing she could do now was whimper like a hurt puppy.

Blondie and Scruffy’s laughter tore through the room, making your stomach churn in disgust. How could they laugh at something like this? How could they possibly think torture was funny? You knew the British Men of Letters were crazy sons of bitches, but you’d assumed that monster going by the name of Mr. Ketch was their only psychopath, a sort of a pet they kept for dirty work. To think that their entire organization consisted of people exactly like him…

Anger burned through your veins, hot like lava. They would pay. That much you swore. If they do what they came here for – if they kill you – you promised you’d come back as a vengeful spirit and make them wish they were never born. Not just these two idiots – the entire British Men of Letters. People like them shouldn’t exist.

All this time you thought yourself a monster for deciding to become a witch, when the real monsters were humans all along.

Blondie knelt down next to Rowena, patting her hair in a way that was almost caring. “You know she’s lying to you, don’t you?” He tucked a messy strand behind her ear and traced one of the mascara-smudging tears down her cheek. “You’re going to die.”

“Fuck ye!” she spat, pushing all her remaining strength into those two words. If the situation weren’t so brave, you would have been proud of your girl.

Blondie chuckled. “Feisty, aren’t you? A real Scot!”

“Get away from her!” you shouted, fidgeting in Scruffy’s arms, prompting him to tighten his grip. You let out a pained hiss as his strong arms pressed against your chest. Was this how you were going to die? Were you going to be crushed to death by a giant Irishman?

Blondie ignored you. “I’d apologise, but I’m not really sorry. You _are_ a monster, after all. But let me just tell you – it’s nothing personal. It everything had gone according to plan, the two of you would have already been dead. But your lover here killed my brother and I couldn’t just let that go. The British Men of Letters have a code – and he _was_ my brother. You get what I’m saying? No hard feelings. That’s all.”

He grabbed Rowena’s chin, nails digging into the pale skin hard enough to leave red marks, and got into her face.

“Really, if you want to blame someone for this, blame her. If she hadn’t killed my brother, none of this would have happened.”

A part of you agreed with him. If you hadn’t tried to act tough and thrown that hex bag, the third Brit would have still been alive and you and Rowena would have died quickly and painlessly. If you’d know what would transpire, you never would have tried fighting the useless battle.

The only thing your actions did was cause your captors to torture Rowena just so they could get their revenge on you.

“The only one to blame is _ye,”_ Rowena said defiantly, giving him her deadliest glare. Even in the face of death, she was proud. “Think doin’ this makes ye a man?” She scoffed. “Ye’re just a wee boy on a power trip!”

She could have been beaten and whipped and immensely weakened, but the one thing they could never take away from her was her pride. Being Lucifer’s plaything had taught her to stay true to herself no matter what. Kissing ass would only get her so far, and she’d promised to never sink that low again. If death was the price, so be it.

Blondie just smiled. Then, in a split second, he released her chin and swung his fist at her; knuckles collided with soft skin, sending her head flying sideways. She let out a grunt as the sudden movement caused her back injuries to sting, taking in deep breaths to calm her fast-beating heart.

The only thing you could do as he got to his feet and pressed his heavy boot against her back was shout pleas and obscenities – and god knows there were plenty swirling through your mind, begging to be freed from the cage of your mouth.

Rowena screamed as the pressure reopened her injuries, causing more blood to pour out the torn skin.

“So pathetic,” Blondie spat, smile fading into blankness.

He gave Rowena’s ribs another sharp kick, prompting another scream, and then used his foot to push her onto her back. Rowena could only whimper as the dirty floor aggravated her already painful injuries; that morphed into a groan when Blondie laid his foot atop her chest, pinning her down hard.

“I was told you were one of the wicked ones,” he said, his eyes meeting hers in a determined stare. “Turns out you’re just a whiny bitch like the rest of them. It’s a shame, really. I was expecting a challenge.”

How dare he talk to her like that? For that alone you swore to do things to him that would make what he did to her look like child’s play.

Rowena swallowed, taking a breath to compose herself enough to speak. “Take off the cuff and I’ll show ye wicked,” she hissed venomously, like a snake tearing into its prey. Her voice was weak, words struggling to leave her trembling mouth, but that signature fire of hers still burned strong in her tone. Even close to death, she was still herself.

“Tempting,” Blondie snickered, “but I’m going to have to decline. That wouldn’t be a fair fight, now would it?”

You barely resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his comment. His definition of a fair fight was apparently a tall, muscular man beating the hell out of and mercilessly whipping a tiny, defenseless woman.

Next time you hear the Winchesters (particularly the younger one) say the British Men of Letters aren’t all that bad, you promised to give them a smack.

That is, if there even was a next time.

The way things were going, there wasn’t going to be, but you were still hoping for a miracle. That, or coming back as a vengeful spirit. Either way worked for you.

“Now,” Blondie continued, “I’m afraid we’ve had our fun. It’s time to end this game.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, hoping to buy some time. You weren’t ready to die; not now that you and Rowena were finally happy, enjoying a life of something other than wreaking havoc just for the fun of it.

Why couldn’t these people just leave you be? Why couldn’t they let you leave in peace? You weren’t hurting anybody – not anymore. You were just two witches in love taking your second chance and enjoying it to the fullest.

“Oh, but we do,” Scruffy told you, his sleazy, snake-like voice sending shivers down your spine. “We have a code.”

“That’s it? You follow a stupid code?” You couldn’t resist sass anymore; the urge was too strong. Your mouth widened into a sarcastic smile. “Here I was, thinking you were some badass hunters wannabes, but turns out you’re just some corporate pig’s little bitches.”

“Think that insults us?” Blondie inquired.

“I don’t give a fuck if it insults you. I just wanted to say it.”

He smiled. “I get it. Last words and all.”

“Not quite, but sure. Let’s go with that,” you retorted.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to cut this conversation short,” he said, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a silver gun.

You froze as he pointed it directly at Rowena’s forehead, your body going numb in an instant, all rational thought gone from your mind and replaced by flashes of your happiest memories with your girl, like a series of flashbacks all melting into one another.

Rowena narrowed her eyes at the barrel of the gun, trying her hardest to keep her breathing under control. You could tell that her insides were screaming with fear mixed with pain, but on the outside she was defiant, proud, the Rowena everyone knew her as.

“Ye’re a coward,” she spat, locking her eyes with his for a short moment before averting them back to the gun.

“Maybe,” Blondie agreed, shrugging casually. “But I’m not the one who’s going to die, now am I?”

“No! No, no, no! Please, don’t! Kill me, torture me, do whatever the hell you want to me, just, please, let her live!” you begged, a river of tears spilling down your cheeks. Watching her be tortured was horrifying enough; being forced to watch her die would shatter you. It was bad enough when Lucifer snapped her neck, and you were only friends back then.

Having to witness it again would be worse than death.

“It’s alright, dear,” Rowena soothed, despite her weakness. Another tear slid down her face. “I’ve lived long enough. Don’t be scared. Just close yer eyes. It will all be over soon.”

“No!” you sobbed, giving struggling another try, but the only thing that accomplished was a stronger grip. “Please, Rowena, I… I can’t lose you!”

“We will meet again in Hell,” she told you, voice serene, calm, as if she’d already made peace with death. “Whatever becomes of us, know that I love ye.”

“And I love you,” you squeaked through tears. _Always and forever,_ you thought. Even if Hell tortures all the love out of you; even if it destroys every shred of your humanity and twists your soul beyond recognition, you swore to never let yourself forget what you felt for her.

The love that the two of you shared would never die.

“How sweet,” Blondie commented, laughing along with Scruffy. He looked down at Rowena, who shot him a defiant scowl. “Almost makes me want to _not_ kill you, but, you know, rules are rules, and there’s also this teensy-weensy fact of her killing my brother. You understand why I can’t just let that go, don’t you? Watching him die really hurt my feelings. So I think it’s only fair that she watches you die. And eye for an eye. A brother for a lover.”

“I’m afraid we can’t let you do that.”

And just like that, the future didn’t look so glum anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editor: [OswinTheStrange](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OswinTheStrange/).


	2. Comfort

For a moment it was as if the entire room froze. Or perhaps it was you that froze; you couldn’t quite tell for the only thing you could do was breathe in and out in an erratic manner as your eyes tracked the source of the voice and settled on the face you never would have thought you’d be relieved to see.

From that point on it was decided – Dean Winchester was your hero! It didn’t matter that he annoyed you sometimes; it didn’t matter that Rowena considered him a manner-less brute or that he and his brother had chained her up more times than you could count.

All that mattered was that he was here, the gun in his hand pointed directly at Blondie’s head.

Sam stood behind him, pointing his own gun at Scruffy, who now held onto you so tightly that you could barely breathe; he turned to Sam in a swift motion in hopes of using you as a shield. It hurt to breathe, hurt to go from deep, uneven breath to short and shallow ones, and you tried, once again, to struggle against the restraints of Scruffy’s muscular arms, but just as all those previous times, all your attempts were in vain.

“The Winchesters,” Blondie scoffed. “I’d love to say I’m surprised, but I’m really not.”

Dean grinned. “What can I say? We’re not ones to disappoint.”

Blondie scowled at him. “You think yourself a comedian?”

The elder Winchester shrugged. “Been told I’m hilarious.”

You doubted that.

And so did Blondie. “False flattery.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll take what I can get.”

“I can see that,” the Brit retorted, looking from Rowena to you before settling his eyes back on Dean. “Witches? Really?”

“They’re allies.”

“They’re _monsters!_ How can you even stand to be around them? Aren’t you afraid they’ll hex you? They aren’t exactly a trustworthy bunch.”

“Funny, one could say the same about you. And from what I see, they aren’t the ones causing trouble here.”

Your heart swelled with joy at Dean defending you. Maybe you could learn to like this hunter.

“She killed my brother!” Blondie snarled, pointing at you with his gun.

“I’m sure she had a good reason.”

 _Yeah, I did,_ you thought. _He fucking tried to kill me!_ “Self-defense,” you wheezed, struggling the utter the words.

Dean smirked. “See?”

“Don’t do that,” Sam said as Blondie pointed his gun at Rowena.

“Why not?” the Brit challenged. “They’re not like us. Their lives… they aren’t worth shit. They’re beasts. Inhuman abominations.”

“Your brother wouldn’t want you to do that.”

You almost rolled your eyes at Sam’s attempt at a sympathy card. Really? He was going with _that?_

“You have no idea what my brother would have wanted!” Blondie snapped, face twisting with rage. “That bitch killed him and now I’m gonna return the favor and kill her lover! It’s only fair. Isn’t it, sweetheart?”

He turned to Rowena as he said it, giving her his sweetest fake smile that made you sick to your stomach.

She sent him a look of pure and utter detest, prompting him to chuckle. “You’re adorable. It’s almost a shame you’ll have to go.”

You exchanged one final look with Rowena before turning away and closing your eyes as Blondie’s finger found its way to the trigger.

The gunshot startled you, making you twitch, urging tears to fall from your eyes in a never-ending stream of sadness. _I’m sorry,_ you thought, your fondest memories of Rowena playing in your head. _I love you._

It was only when the second gunshot sounded and Scruffy screamed that you allowed yourself to open your eyes again.

The first thing you noticed was the lack of pressure on your chest. Looking back, you saw Scruffy laying on the ground, a bullet wound adorning his forehead as blood pooled around his head.

“Y/N, you okay?” A hand on your shoulder startled you and you quickly turned around, ready to fight what you assumed was a new threat.

You sighed in relief when you saw that it was only an extremely worried-looking Sam.

Without taking a few moments to get your breathing under control, you wildly looked around, only letting out a shout of: “Rowena!”

“She’s fine,” Sam assured you, but you ignored him, pushing him aside to look at your girl.

She was laying on the ground, trembling, bloody and bruised, but she was alive, and it was that realization that finally allowed you to calm down. Blondie laid motionlessly beside her, his forehead bearing a similar wound to that of Scruffy’s.

Without wasting another breath, you ran to her and knelt down next to her. “You’re alive,” you whispered, smiling brightly. “I thought I lost you.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” she commented, lips twisting in a pained grimace before forming a smile of her own.

“You dug the claws in, didn’t you? Just like Crowley said.”

“Aye.”

“You guys okay?” Dean asked.

“I am, but she…”

You enveloped Rowena in your arms, careful not to press on the injuries on her back, and raised her into a sitting position, letting her lean onto you for balance. She hissed, barely holding back the cries as the sudden movement disturbed her injuries.

“Oh, god,” you gasped. The wounds looked so much worse up close, and you could barely hold back new tears. You didn’t dare imagine what she must have been going through. If that were your back, you wouldn’t be able to stop screaming.

Sam and Dean grimaced as they took in the condition of her back. Looks of sympathy crossed their faces, but they were quick to hide them; they knew Rowena enough to know she’d mistake them for pity and take it as an offense against her dignity.

“Is it that bad?” Rowena asked weakly, head pressed into your chest.

“It is,” you replied. You didn’t have it in you to lie to her.

“It hurts like a bitch,” she said.

“No wonder.” You turned to the brothers. “Can your angel do something?”

You had nothing against caring for her, but having to watch her suffer for weeks until the wounds healed on their own would shatter you. You couldn’t bear the thought of her being in pain for that long.

Sam nodded. “Cas is right outside.”

“James Bond wannabes angel-proofed this place,” Dean explained. “Can you walk?”

“I can try,” Rowena said honestly.

Nodding in acknowledgment, he took his jacket off and handed it to you. You wrapped it around Rowena, muttering an apology for her pained flinches.

“Don’t force yourself,” you told her.

You wrapped one arm around her waist and let her take hold of the other one as you slowly rose to your feet. Rowena doubled over at one point, cradling her bruised ribs; you offered to try carrying her, but she insisted she could do it. You didn’t dare question her when she was _that_ determined.

She took a few moments to get herself steady on her feet before linking her elbow with yours for support and taking slow, careful steps. She held onto you as if her life depended on it. For someone who had just minutes ago been viciously beaten and whipped, she had a lot of strength left in her. But you didn’t mind; not when she grabbed hard enough to leave bruises, not when her nails pressed into your skin. She had no intention of hurting you, and besides, it was nothing compared to the pain she was in.

As soon as you were out, squinting at the sunlight, Castiel approached you. Sam and Dean were quick to clue him in on what had happened while you led Rowena to the Impala, helping her sit on the hood. Normally, Dean would have snapped at her for disrespecting his precious Baby, but now he looked as if he didn’t even notice.

Or maybe he just pretended not to. After all, Rowena’s wellbeing was most important.

“Let me see,” Castiel said.

You removed Dean’s jacket, exposing Rowena’s injured back.

“Looks like I ruined yer jacket,” she commented, motioning to the blood-soaked fabric.

“It’s just a jacket,” Dean said, sending her a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Can you heal it?” you asked Castiel.

He frowned, sympathy alike that of Sam and Dean’s crossing his face. “Not everything. I can heal the worst of it.”

“I’ll take it,” Rowena said eagerly, prompting the angel to nod.

He gently laid a hand on her chest, closing his eyes for a short moment. You squeezed Rowena’s hand for support, shooting her an encouraging smile. She could do it. Even if the angel doesn’t heal everything, you firmly believed she had it in her to get through it. She was strong, your girl. She wouldn’t have survived for over three centuries had she not been tough.

When Castiel removed his hand, Rowena took a deep breath, swallowing hard as she brought her free hand to her stomach and pressed lightly, feeling the wounds hidden underneath the torn dress.

You cupped her cheek, turning her head so you could look her in the eye. You noticed the bruises on her face had faded. Light shades of yellowish-green still adorned her skin, the last traces of painful welts.

“How are you feeling?” you asked.

“Better,” she replied. And she sounded it, too. Her voice was weak no more; that signature strength was back and kicking.

“Happy to hear that.”

She looked down to her stomach. “It hardly hurts.”

You smiled contently. “Let me see your back.”

Lines were still visible on her skin. They were red in color and looked as if they stung, but there were no painful gashes, no torn skin or bleeding cuts. Each was closed, the only reminder of them the caked blood adorning her pale skin.

“How’s it look?” Rowena inquired.

“Better!” you beamed. “No cuts.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Does anything hurt?”

“A bit,” she replied honestly. “But nowhere close to how it hurt a moment ago.” She gave Castiel a grateful look. “Thank ye. _All_ of ye.”

Castiel, as well as Sam and Dean, looked taken aback by her thanks. Not that you blamed them; Rowena wasn’t a pleasantries kind of person. She was probably the last person they expected gratitude from.

“Yeah. Thanks,” you said.

“You’re welcome,” the angel said awkwardly.

“We were just doing our job,” Sam said, unsure how to properly respond.

“Yeah,” Dean added.

“Still, we appreciate it,” you told them. “We owe you.” Rowena elbowed you in the ribs. _“I_ owe you.”

Dean chuckled. “It’s kinda our fault you were in this mess in the first place.”

Sam nodded. “You were making a potion for us.”

“About that… Think you guys could wait a bit?” you asked. Your main priority was taking care of Rowena. “I need to make sure she’s okay.”

“I’m fine,” Rowena said, rolling her eyes in an overly dramatic manner. “Don’t know if ye missed it, but the angel just healed me.”

“You’re most certainly _not_ fine,” you chided. “After what those assholes did to you, I’m not letting you overexert yourself.”

“I’m not a child, Y/N. Ye can’t tell me what to do.”

“In this case, I can. You’re not doing this. End of discussion.”

She shot you a pointed look. “Have ye forgotten who ye’re talkin’ to?”

“Have _you_ forgotten who _you’re_ talking to?” you countered, having had enough of her stubbornness. “I love you, sweet girl. I love you so much and I can’t let you get hurt again. You say you’re fine? Good for you, ‘cause I’m not! I watched him do all those things to you, and I could do nothing – _nothing –_ to stop it. But now I can – and I will. You’re _not_ getting hurt on my watch again. You can hate me for it. You can think I’m weak. I don’t care. But you are _not_ getting hurt!”

Tears spilled from your eyes and Rowena was quick to pull you into a comforting embrace. “Oh, darlin’.”

You held onto her as if your life depended on it. You never wanted to let go of her again.

“The potion can wait,” Sam said. “Y/N’s right, Rowena. You need to get some rest.”

“Want us to drop you off somewhere?” Dean offered.

“That would be nice,” Rowena said. “Thank ye.”

“My apartment,” you said. “It’s not far from here.”

The brothers nodded.

“Hop in,” Sam said.

For the entirety of the drive you had your arm linked with Rowena’s, as if she would vanish if you were to let go. After what happened today, you weren’t going to that that chance.

If this horrible experience had taught you anything, it was that you were taking Rowena for granted. Instead of appreciating her, you just assumed she would always be here. How could she not? She’s already survived for three centuries; she could live for three more.

Only, it was more complicated than that. She was a survivor, yes, but she was also vulnerable and fragile (even if it usually didn’t seem that way) just like everyone else.

Just like _you._

The first thing you did when you arrived at your apartment, after locking the door, was run her a hot, soothing bath. Despite her protests that she could do it on her own, you helped her out of her dress and threw the ruined thing in the trash.

You cringed as you took in the condition of her body. Underneath all the dirt and dried blood there were bruises upon bruises on her abdomen. They were all in their late stages of healing, barely visible, but still there. The sight almost brought tears back to your eyes.

“I’m fine,” Rowena said, noticing your tormented expression. “They’ll be gone in a few days.”

“They shouldn’t be there in the first place,” you said, turning your head away from her downtrodden face. “Come on.”

You took her by the hand to help her into the bathtub. She sat down between your legs and you began to wash her, making sure to be gentle as to not hurt her. Despite her injuries being almost completely healed, pressing onto them still caused her pain – insignificant pain, but pain none the less. She’d been through enough for one day. The last thing she needed was for you to hurt hr.

 _Again,_ you thought, swallowing back the tears of regret.

As if she read your mind, Rowena broke the silence that had fallen between you: “What happened today wasn’t yer fault.”

“He tortured you to hurt me,” you said, Blondie’s words echoing in your head like an ominous prophecy. If you’d just gone quietly, he wouldn’t have hurt her. You’d have been dead, but Rowena would not have suffered.

“He was a sick bastard,” Rowena said venomously. “Even if you’d never thrown that hex bag, he would’ve found a reason to torture us. They’re the British Men of Letters – that’s what they do. Simply killin’ isn’t enough for them. They want us to suffer for bein’ inhuman. This wasn’t about ye, darlin’. It was about _them.”_

The sane part of you knew that was true. That entire organization consisted of monsters in human clothing; even the seemingly nicest of their sort had an unimaginable darkness to them.

But still, the fact remained that the only reason Blondie had tortured Rowena was your murder of his brother. He made you watch. He made you listen. He made sure you would always remember the torments he inflicted upon her.

“But he made me watch, Rowena.” Everything you’ve been holding in came pouring out in a fit of sobs. You put your arms around her, pulling her close to you, letting your chin rest on her shoulder as you wept. “He made me watch.”

“My sweet girl,” Rowena whispered, clasping her hands over yours in an attempt at comfort. “Don’t cry. It’s over now. I’m fine. These bruises will heal in no time and soon I’ll be as good as new.”

“I can’t get it out of my head. Whenever I close my eyes, I see him doing those things to you. And I just watch and I… I can’t do anything to help you. They didn’t _let_ me help you, Rowena! I couldn’t protect you!”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Rowena said softly, herself on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Ye didn’t do anythin’.”

“Exactly! I didn’t.”

“You _couldn’t,”_ Rowena corrected. “What happened is entirely on them. Don’t dwell on bad memories. It will do ye no good.”

“I can’t get them out of my head.”

“They’ll fade with time. Just remember I’m here and I love ye. Nothin’s ever goin’ to change that. I will never leave ye, darlin’. ”

You nodded. Her words didn’t make you feel _that_ much better, but it was progress. Just knowing that she would always be there was enough to make you feel at peace again.

“Let me hold you,” you told her. “Let me be by your side for the next few days. I need to make myself believe this is real. Because right now it all feels like a dream, and I’m scared I’ll wake up any time now and you won’t be here.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m all yers, darlin’. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“Thank you, Rowena.” You laid a kiss to her neck. “I love you.”

She smiled. “And I love ye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editor: [BewitchedSquirrel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BewitchedSquirrel/)


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